


The Dream

by Linda C (HowNovel)



Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-03-12
Updated: 1988-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Linda%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul trades favors with a certain actor with whom he shares a common bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dream

THE DREAM  
By Linda C  
COPYRIGHT: March, 1988

 

This story is fiction. Any incidents or occurrences described herein are purely figments of the author's imagination.

 

The actor bounded onto the stage at Philadelphia's Forrest Theater. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he announced to the company in general. "The tour took longer than I thought."

"What tour?" one of the other actors wanted to know.

"I know you won't believe this, but I was visiting the historical district. It's only a couple blocks from here." He grinned. "I can recommend a good guide -- her name is Laurie --if any of you want to get educated."

The members of the company surrounded the newcomer and the good-natured teasing that had characterized this particular acting ensemble began:

"You sure work fast; you're not even that late!!"

"Just how good a guide is she, Bob?"

"All I want to know is just who educated who?"

"Where were you really?"

"So when's your next lesson, Robert?"

The actor's grin widened. He had a reputation for both instigating and enjoying a good joke and added to the general din by protesting innocently, "Talk about gutter-minds!! Can I help it if I just happen to like history?"

Everybody laughed and the bantering would have gone on indefinitely had not the stage manager and the director arrived at that moment. "Okay, you guys," the director called out over the noise. "You were all great last night but I want to run through that third scene in the first act ..."  
  
---  
  
Paul Forrester stood at the edge of the small city park several blocks away, his gaze searching through the crowd for his son. He had been paid for his last two weeks' work at the newspaper and had been offered a permanent staff position, which he had declined with thanks. Knowing the real Paul Forrester's reputation as footloose and fancy free, the editors were not surprised, and had given him a standing offer to submit freelance material at any time, which offer he had accepted with thanks. He was comfortable in this city and had a certain feeling for it he, as yet, could not quite define, but he knew he would not be able to stay much longer. He did feel that it was time for Scott to see something of his nation's historical beginnings, however, and had decided to delay their departure a few more days.

It was a typical summer day in Philadelphia, which is to say it was hot and humid, and the shady park had drawn the usual noontime throng. Despite his lengthy stay on this planet (he had been here more than a year this time), Paul was still fascinated by the unique creativity humans displayed in almost every area of their lives, from intricate scientific and medical problems to how to spend leisure time. This park, for example, was only a square city block in area but he saw so many people enjoying its quiet beauty in so many different ways: some were jogging, some were tossing Frisbees, one or two were walking dogs, several were eating their lunch, a few were reading or sunning themselves, and others were just watching other people.

A sidewalk hot dog vendor on the far side of the park caught Paul's eye and, knowing he would find Scott where there was food, he headed in that direction. His natural inclination was to greet every person he passed, but since experience had taught him such an action would be viewed with suspicion, he did not do so. Although he still found some human ways strange, he was finding it easier and easier to adapt to them.

As he crossed the park, Paul saw Scott sitting on a bench eating a hot dog and eyeing two young teenage girls who were lying on the grass not far from him. As Paul drew near, he heard the girls giggling and watched with amusement as his son grinned lopsidedly around his hot dog in response. Although they were constantly on the move, Scott seemed to have little trouble attracting female attention and, more and more, was ready to flirt with any girl who looked at him twice.

Well aware that his son had not seen his approach, Paul tapped him on the shoulder and said in his ear, "You're dripping, Scott."

Startled by his father's sudden appearance, the boy jumped, then quickly, and somewhat self-consciously, wiped the telltale drops of mustard from his jeans and swallowed the rest of his hot dog. The girls giggled again, but he ignored them.

"Don't go sneakin' up on people like that," he mumbled as he got to his feet.

Paul raised an eyebrow in affected innocence. "Who's sneakin' up? I'm in plain sight."

"You know what I mean," Scott muttered. "When do we leave? Soon, I hope?"

"Oh, I don't know." Paul nodded in the direction of the two girls who were pretending not to be watching. "They don't seem to want you to leave just yet."

Scott made a dismissing gesture as they began to walk across the park. "They're just kids," he said with a superior air. "Not my type at all."

"Oh, I see," Paul replied with great gravity. "And have you decided just what your type is yet?"

"I have plenty of time for that, but she should —"

"In other words: No."

Scott made a face and decided to change the subject. "So what did the newspaper guys say?"

"First, they offered me a staff position, which I turned down of course, and then they said I could submit freelance material any time."

"So do we stay or what?"

"For a couple more days." He smiled. "I don't think Fox'11 ever believe we were this close to Washington this long so a few --"

"I wish you hadn't helped him like that back in Arizona!!" Scott interrupted more vehemently than he intended.

Paul looked at him in surprise. Aside from questioning him at the time, Scott had never mentioned George Fox's apparently fatal heart attack in Arizona months before, although he suspected the boy had brooded about it more than once. "Would you rather I let him die?" he asked quietly.

"Yes! Well, no, but ... After everything he's done to us -- to you... to say nothing of what he'd like to do..., I just don't understand how you could be so... so..."

"Forgiving?" Paul asked in the same quiet tone of voice "Or stupid?"

Scott looked at him for a long moment. It was not the first time he realized how little he understood this man who was his father. "I guess it depends on your point of view, doesn't it?" he finally said.

"I guess it does," Paul replied softly.

Scott kicked a stone out of his path. "I guess you think I have a lot to learn about everything, don't you?" he muttered under his breath.

"There's a universal truth that says we never stop -- or never should stop -- learning." Paul smiled slightly at his son's disgruntled look, and added, "So I suggest we just keep on teaching each other. How's that?"

Scott brightened. "Okay. So what's the plan?"

"Well, I thought since there's been no sign of Fox, we could take a little time to relax and be tourists."

"Tourists?" Scott was openly skeptical. "Why?"

"Isn't that what humans do in the summer?"

"Well, yes, sometimes, but ... here?"

"Why not here? Philadelphia is the birthplace of your nation, you know, and since we're here anyway, why not see all the places you've read about?"

"Now you sound like a history teacher, not a mapmaker -- or even a photographer."

"Where I come from, there's a much deeper regard for history -- everybody's history." He glanced around him. "This is your heritage, Scott; this is where America began, and believe me when I say America is the best your world has to offer."

"What about your world? That's part of my heritage, too, you know."

Paul smiled. "Let's just take one world at a time."

Scott was not to be dissuaded. "But I'd like to see your world, too."

"I've told you that you couldn't live there so why --"

"You live here."

"Yes, but... that's different. Humans can't change their physical make-up to adapt to --"

"Just for a visit?" Scott interrupted, watching his father expectantly.

Paul suppressed a sigh. He was pleased his son was so interested -- this was not the first time he had expressed a desire to see Paul's home -- but he knew that, as a human being, Scott simply could not live on his planet. Since he was not at all certain the human spirit would be able to tolerate life in any other body or form, he would not risk Scott's life on such an experiment but to avoid destroying the boy's enthusiasm, he smiled and replied, "Perhaps someday I'll be able to arrange that."

Scott accepted that rather ambiguous answer and they headed toward the nearby historical sites. Paul had brought his camera and was soon taking pictures like any other tourist. When they emerged from Independence Hall a little later, he was pleased to see that Scott's initial indifference had disappeared.

"Y'know, it's kinda awesome -- being where Ben Franklin, George Washington and all those other guys were," Scott said as they crossed the street and approached the Liberty Bell Pavillion. "It's hard to believe they were right in that room."

Paul smiled. "Believe it."

Scott glanced at him with an appraising look. "You sure you've never been here before? You really knew your way around."

"You know I haven't."

"But you knew almost as much as that guide. She was really impressed." He paused and when his father did not reply, added, "What'd she want to talk to you about anyway?"

Paul glanced back toward Independence Hall for a moment. He knew now why he felt such a kinship with this city, but since there was no way he could explain it to his son, he merely said, "She thought she knew me."

Scott stared at him. "Oh, great!! Another Paul Forrester triumph."

"I don't think so."

"Then how did she know you? You just said you've never been here."

"She doesn't know me," Paul replied quietly. "It's a case of what you call mistaken identity."

"Isn't it always?"

"This is ... different, Scott."

Scott studied his father, suspecting he knew more than he was telling. "I suppose this means we leave now after all?"

"Don't you want to see that science museum you were telling me about yesterday? The one with the planetarium?"

"The Franklin Institute? Not if it means Fox'll catch us."

Paul allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "You let me worry about that."

"But --"

"Fox won't catch us in Philadelphia."

Scott verbally threw up his hands. "Oh, he won't, huh? And how can you be so sure?"

"It's just something I feel."

Scott looked dubious but gave no further argument. Over the many months he and his father had travelled together, he had learned to trust the older man's judgment -- even when he did not understand it, which was more often than not.

As they entered the Liberty Bell Pavillion and listened as the guide interwove the history of the Bell with the early history of the nation, Paul was aware of Scott's apprehension, but felt at peace with himself. He knew this city was playing host to the one person that he had wanted to meet for many months. Although he was aware their meeting would be brief, he knew it would be unforgettable. As he ran his hand lightly over the Liberty Bell, he marveled again at how, more than 200 years before, humans had put forth the idea of individual freedom and democracy and forged his son's nation into what it is today. It was an experiment his own race had watched from the depths of space and now, as he and Scott left the Pavillion, he was proud that even though they had had the capability, his own people had not interfered with the growth and development of his son's people. He had grown to love this planet almost as much as his own and, although the spectre of George Fox and the FSA was always hanging over his head, he was glad he had come back.

"What're you thinkin1?" Scott's voice interrupted his silent musings.

"Just that I'm glad I came back," Paul answered with a slight smile. "Are you?"

Scott gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "I guess so. Travellin' around sure beats the orphanage."

"Then shall we plan on that museum tomorrow?"

"Sure. Sounds like a neat place."

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the historical area, wandering through Society Hill, Penn's Landing and Elfreth's Alley. Paul felt confined just looking at the narrow street and row houses of the Alley and felt the familiar longing for the space he knew beyond the skies. As he had done many times before, he suppressed it, knowing his responsibility for now was to his son, his son's life was here and here he would stay. He accepted that responsibility willingly, even gladly, but that acceptance had not been without sacrifice. As he and Scott walked through neighborhoods almost 300 years old, he saw Scott's growing pride in this part of his heritage and knew any sacrifice he had made was well worth it.  
  
---  
  
The only kind of sacrifice that was on George Fox's mind later that evening was human sacrifice -- preferably boiling in oil. As the FSA agent sat in his Washington office reading his assistant's latest report, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This was simply too ludicrous to be believed, even for Wylie. He shook his head; he was angry that the younger man was on the government payroll at all, but he was angrier that he, George Fox, had to put up with such incompetence and would now have to waste his valuable time following up such a ridiculous lead.

He heard a knock on his office door and looked up as a dark-haired man entered his office. "Ah," he began with forced affability. "Come in, Wylie. Sit down."

The new arrival hesitated; he was not used to such courtesy, however transparent, from his superior and didn't know how to respond.

Fox waved his hand. "Sit; sit." He waited until the other man had complied, then tossed a folder across his desk, adding, "Perhaps you can tell me what this is?"

Wylie glanced at the folder. "My report, sir."

"Your report about what Mr. Wylie?"

"The activities of your -- er -- the alien."

Fox dropped all pretense of congeniality and snapped, "Have you totally lost your mind? Or didn't you ever have one to begin with? Philadelphia is so far out of the alien's known area that --"

"I realize that, sir," Wylie interrupted with a rare show of courage. "But the inquiry came in and --"

"From whom?" Fox asked sourly. "Benjamin Franklin?"

"Uh -- no, sir. From a police reporter at --"

"Yes, yes; I know. I read it." Fox snatched the folder and waved it in Wylie's face. "But what I really want to know is, if this is as good a lead as you seem to think, you know how important it is to me -- to all of us. Why wasn't I informed immediately? You know how crucial time can be."

Being basically an honest, although not overly bright, individual, Wylie did not hesitate, "If you remember, I tried to see you, sir, but you were in that meeting with the General and didn't want to be disturbed so I -- uh -- wrote it up as fast as possible."

Fox glared at his assistant for a moment. "Very well," he began. "But I have just one question about this... this sighting."

The younger man leaned forward almost eagerly. "Yes, sir?"

"Why do you suppose an alien being capable of travelling through the galaxies would be in Philadelphia?"

The sarcasm in his superior's voice was not lost on Wylie. He shifted in his chair and began tentatively, "You've always told me just to give you the facts, sir, and the facts were that --"

"Yes, yes," Fox interrupted wearily. "It will no doubt be a waste of time but I suppose I have to check it out. Make arrangements for a car; we'll leave for Philadelphia early tomorrow." He sighed as Wylie left his office and tossed the folder aside. He enjoyed his work, which he considered vital to the national defense, and he had found a new lease on life after that strange episode in Arizona months before, but he knew his superiors were still laughing at him behind his back. In his opinion, it was unlikely that this trip would be anything but another dead-end, but all of his training told him to check out every lead no matter how silly or insignificant it seemed, so he would go to Philadelphia and, as always, give it his best. They might fault George Fox for many things, he thought, but George Fox always did his best.  
  
---  
  
The next day, the actor sat in his theater dressing room deep in thought. He had been a guest on a local television talk show that morning, had been asked the usual questions about his current play, and had then been asked which, out of all the characters he had played throughout his career, excluding his present role, had been his favorite. His answer had surprised the host but they had discussed it, he had told several amusing anecdotes about life on that particular set and that was that... or would have been except for Laurie's phone call. He had been in show business a long time and knew characters sometimes seemed to take on lives of their own, but never quite like this! Strangely exhilarated by his thoughts, he remained curious yet cautious, for he knew the only thing he could do now was wait. If Laurie was right, he had the feeling he would not be waiting very long.  
  
---  
  
"So was the planetarium true-to-life, Dad?" Scott asked as he carried his pack into one of the rooms of their hotel suite a short distance from the theater where a company of actors had now gathered. This was one of the most luxurious places they had stayed in a long time -- the Philadelphia newspaper had spared no expense since requesting Paul's services for a special assignment several weeks before -- and Scott was not very happy at the prospect of their departure.

"As true as humans can get it, I suppose," Paul answered absently as he fastened his camera case.

Scott's annoyance at what he perceived as his father's superior attitude was obvious as he asked, "Geez, do you think we're that dumb?"

"Of course not," Paul replied with a slight smile. "That museum has great potential. I'm sorry to leave Philadelphia without being able to give them a few pointers."

"So what's the big rush to leave, then? I thought you liked it here."

"I do, but Fox is in town."

"WHAT??!!??"

"So are you ready to go?" Paul continued calmly. "Laurie just called and said to meet her at the corner of 12th and Walnut Streets. That's only a couple blocks from here."

Scott stared at his father in total confusion. "Wh-who's Laurie?" he managed to stammer after a moment.

"The guide at Independence Hall." Paul shouldered his gear and looked at Scott expectantly. "Ready?"

Scott slowly shook his head. "I must be missing something."

Paul turned his bemused son toward the door. "It's very simple," he began as they left the rooms that had been their home for the last few weeks. "Remember when Laurie spoke to me after the tour yesterday? Well, through circumstances you'll soon understand, she knows who I am, why I'm known as Paul Forrester and all about George Fox."

"But you said you didn't know her!!"

"I don't -- or didn't until yesterday."

"Dad, you're not making any sense!!"

"You'll understand in a little while."

Scott's further questions remained unanswered as they started to walk toward the designated meeting place. The streets of Philadelphia are straight, narrow and congested and as they paused at a crossroads and Paul glanced behind them, he could see for many blocks.

What he could not see, although he sensed their presence, were the occupants of a car that suddenly careened through the intersection they had just crossed. He did hear the squeal of tires and a familiar voice ordering him to stop immediately. Without a backward look and with the ease of long practice, he and Scott sprinted away and disappeared into the gaping throng of spectators.

George Fox pushed his way through the crowd for almost two blocks, with Wylie driving slowly behind him, but, like so many times before, his quarry had disappeared. Frustrated, he flung himself into the car, muttering, "How does it always manage to get away?"

"They couldn't have gotten too far, sir," Wylie said, as always trying to be helpful as he stopped for a red light at the busy intersection of 12th and Walnut Streets.

"They could be anywhere -- alleys, stores..." Fox sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Maybe it's time for me to retire like the General was saying yester--"

"There they are!!" Wylie interrupted, pointed toward three figures turning down a narrow alleyway in the block ahead.

Fox was in no mood to put up with Wylie's stupidity and snapped, "In case you've forgotten, Mr. Wylie, we're looking for two people, not three!"

"It's them, sir!" the younger agent insisted. "I'm sure of it. They probably grabbed a hostage or something."

Fox thought about that for a moment, then muttered, "Well, at least that would fit... but he's pretty dumb to hole up in a place with that name." He smirked. "Probably thought that's exactly what I'd think, too." He grinned and nodded to Wylie. "Let's go."

Meanwhile, less than half a block away, a woman led Paul and Scott through a side door of the Forrest Theater into the posh orchestra seating area. When their eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, they saw a small group of people on the stage who were laughing their way through what appeared to be a rather slapstick rehearsal. A frowning guard approached, but the woman took him aside and after a brief consultation, Paul saw him nod and move away.

"I want to thank you for all you've done for us, Laurie," Paul said softly when she returned. "After all, we're total strangers."

"Not quite strangers," she replied with a smile. "And so far I haven't done much." She glanced at the group on the stage. "I talked to him a little while ago. I think he thinks I'm nuts, but he's curious, too. I'll give it a try."

Paul smiled. "I think you'll find he'll do the rest." He looked at Scott as Laurie walked toward the stage. "You okay?"

"Dad, what is going on??" Scott's voice was soft but it betrayed a little bit of fear and a lot of confusion.

Paul did not reply, but put his hand on his son's shoulder and, after a moment, Scott felt himself beginning to relax. They both watched as Laurie singled out a tall dark-haired man from the rest of the actors. After a hurried conversation, the man said something they could not hear to the other actors, left the stage and walked toward the back of the theater with Laurie. Scott was puzzled when he felt his father's grip on his shoulder tighten but when enough light fell across the newcomer's face to distinguish his features, the boy involuntarily gasped and was very grateful for the additional support.

The man gave Scott a brief but reassuring smile before turning his attention to Paul. His eyes widened and after a moment, he murmured, "I still don't think I believe this."

Only his father's firm grip on his shoulder kept Scott from bolting out of the theater at the sound of the man's voice. He shivered slightly and had the distinct feeling they had truly stumbled into something like the Twilight Zone.

"Paul, this is --"

"I know, Laurie," Paul interrupted calmly. He extended his free hand to the other man and continued, "I'm a photographer; my name is Paul Forrester and this is my son --"

"Don't tell me," the newcomer interrupted. "His name is Scott."

"That's right. I've wanted to meet you for a long time."

The man suddenly relaxed and grasped the outstretched hand with a smile. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." He glanced at Scott, who was still staring at him, and shook his head. "Chris'11 never believe this," he murmured before looking back at Paul and continuing the introductions, "I'm an actor; my name is Robert –"

Loud voices, which both men recognized for different reasons, erupted in the outer box office area. Paul looked at the man who could be his identical twin and asked softly, "Will you help us?"

"Of course," came the immediate reply. "Laurie, take them backstage. I've made sure no one will stop you. I'll try to head off leatherlungs out front."

Laurie nodded and quickly led Paul and Scott away from the increasingly loud voices. As promised, the company of actors took little notice of them as they disappeared backstage. As soon as they were out of sight, Paul stopped.

"We'll stay here," he told Laurie. "I want to be able to see and hear what happens. I don't want to cause anyone any trouble."

"But if --"

"Go on back. We'll be fine."

Laurie hesitated, then did as Paul requested. By the time she returned to the back of the theater, a heated discussion was in progress between a smallish, red-faced man waving a governmental ID and the company of actors, all of whom by now had surrounded their associate in a show of support and solidarity.

The federal agent raised his voice to be heard over the din. "People, PLEASE! Quiet down! I tell you this man is Paul Forrester and I want him to --"

"Mr. Fox," the man interrupted in a tone of infinite patience. "My name is not Paul Forrester. I have shown you identification; everyone in this theater has verified that identification. All of us, including myself, have told you we would be willing to even take a lie detector test to verify that identification. Aside from playing a television character by that name once, I have no connection --"

"Do you think this is some penny ante television show!? My work at the FSA is far too important for me to waste time watching television shows!! This is a matter of national security!!"

The actor raised an eyebrow and murmured with just the slightest touch of insolence, "I see."

Fox glared at him, stuffed his ID into his jacket pocket and withdrew a picture from the open briefcase at his feet. "Stop playing games, Forrester. You and I both know who you really are." He brandished the picture at the group at large, announcing, "This is Paul Forrester, the man I'm authorized to take to Washington immediately. Who does it look like to you?"

The group crowded around to look at the picture and the buzz of voices increased as someone said, "It sure does look like you, Bob."

"Not really," Laurie interjected. "His hair's a little different; his eyes are a different color. In fact, this guy looks --"

"My dear girl," Fox interrupted, his voice rising with excitement as he recognized her. "You came in with this man just now, didn't you? Why are you protecting him? Don't you know who and what he really is?"

"I know perfectly well who he is, I am not protecting anybody and I am most certainly not your 'dear girl'!!" Laurie snapped, equally angry at his patronizing tone and eager to draw his attention. "And I didn't come in with him just now, either."

The man standing next to her suppressed a smile. "Especially considering I've been here more than two hours. I'm sorry, Mr. Fox. My name is not 'Forrester'; I'm an actor, not a photographer. The only pictures I'm involved with are the ones I'm in, not any I take. Now, if you'll excuse me, I -- all of us --have to get back to rehearsal."

Paul and Scott watched from the wings of the stage as the actors started to drift away from Fox. Knowing the federal agent would not give up so easily, Paul reached into his pocket and withdrew the silver sphere.

"What're you gonna do?" Scott whispered.

"I don't know yet," Paul answered softly, holding but not activating the sphere. "I don't want Fox to know we're here so it has to be something ... different."

"You're not going anywhere!!" Fox's agitated voice drew their attention to the back of the theater once more and Paul saw the agent make a grab for the man who so resembled him.

Being a younger man and in better physical condition, the actor had no trouble eluding Fox's grasp. Backstage, Paul activated his sphere as he heard his benefactor saying, "Look, Mr. Fox. I've had just about enough of this! I told you --"

"YOU ARE COMING WITH ME!!" Fox was almost screaming as Paul looked up from the lightly-glowing sphere and focused his gaze on the two men in the rear of the theater.

Scott grinned as he and his father saw Fox attempt to slip handcuffs over the wrists of the man he thought was the alien being he had sought for so long only to find himself holding a twenty dollar bill instead of the handcuffs. Paul allowed himself a slight smile when he saw the federal agent staring at the money in his hand and then stuffing it back into his pocket, but his steady gaze never wavered and when Fox withdrew his hand a second later, the agent was again holding the handcuffs. By this time, Laurie had signaled a security guard and when he approached, Fox raised the handcuffs and, once again, found himself brandishing a twenty dollar bill in their place.

Paul deactivated the sphere and he and Scott watched with amusement as the security guard escorted a surprisingly docile George Fox from the theater, leaving behind two people who did not quite believe what they had just seen.  
  
---  
  
Paul fidgeted in the airport waiting area. He was willing to adapt to or explore almost anything if it would make life easier for him and Scott, but he simply could not get used to the human method of flying. He had glanced into the cockpit of one of these airplanes once and it had made him long for his own spacecraft.

"So, where're we headin', Dad?" Scott asked as he flopped into a nearby vacant seat.

Paul glanced at the slip of paper in his hand. "How does a place called Denver, Colorado, sound?"

"It'd be better if this were ski season."

"Ski season?"

"Yeah..." Scott groped for an explanation. "That's when -- uh -- people ski."

"I know that, Scott," Paul replied patiently. "I just wasn't aware you were a skier."

"Well, I'm not -- but it sure looks like fun."

"Fun is important to humans, isn't it?"

"Sure," a nearly identical voice said behind him. "It makes life on this planet worth living." The newcomer shook his head as the two travelers turned toward him, and murmured to his companion, "I'm still not sure I'm not dreaming."

Laurie smiled. "You aren't."

"I assure you, I'm very real," Paul added with a glance at Scott who had moved several steps away.

The actor nodded slowly and held out a pair of airplane tickets, saying, "It's all arranged. My friends'11 be waiting at Denver's Stapleton Airport." He smiled. "It took some convincing last night, but now they're eager to meet you."

Paul accepted the tickets. "You must have friends all over the country."

"Actors do a lot of travelling," he said, glancing from Paul to Scott with a smile. "You two should be familiar with that. Anyway, I'm fortunate enough to have friends, or at least acquaintances, most of the places I happen to -- pardon the expression -- land." He saw Paul flinch slightly as two planes travelling in opposite directions flashed past the terminal windows, and added with a grin, "I get the distinct feeling you don't like our version of flying, but have a good flight anyway -- if you can!"

Paul shook his head. "If humans only knew what air travel could really be like... Someday, perhaps, I can show you, but for now I insist on paying for --"

"Nonsense," his benefactor interrupted. "This trip's on me." At Paul's puzzled look, he added, "Just think of it as a thank you for getting a certain individual named George Fox off my back in a rather, shall we say, unique way."

"Off your back?"

"Yeah, you know... outa my — er -- you convinced him to leave me alone."

"Did he go back to Washington?"

"Well, I understand he's taking a short vacation. Someone else -- no doubt named Wylie -- is in charge of the alien-that-got-away file until Fox returns so I don't think you have too much to worry about!"

Paul laughed, but Scott did not share his ease with this human mirror-image of his father. He moved a little further away, muttering under his breath, "Geez... it gives me the creeps!"

Laurie exchanged glances with her two companions. "What does, Scott?" she asked gently, knowing the boy was having a very hard time reconciling the events of the last twenty-four hours.

He looked at the three adults, then turned away with a mumbled, "Nothin'."

"I thought I explained everything last night," Paul began. "And you --"

"I know!! I heard you!!" Scott spun around to face them. "But -- but..."

"But what, son?"

"Even your voices are the same!" Scott blurted out. "How can your voices be the same?"

"But I don't think they are," Laurie replied before either man could speak. "If you listen carefully, you can tell your father's voice is a little deeper, plus he speaks more deliberately." She paused, then added, "It took me a while to accept it, but they are two different people."

"Very different, "both men echoed simultaneously, with Paul adding, "Do you understand that, Scott?"

"I ... guess so," Scott replied after a short silence.

"Good." The photographer extended his hand to his benefactor. "I think we shall see each other again. ... Bob."

The actor grasped the offered hand and responded warmly "I hope so, ... Paul."  
  
---  
  
The actor awoke the next morning, uncertain whether he had been the butt of a sophisticated practical joke, the beneficiary of an incredible experience, or just the victim of a vivid imagination. After mulling it over for a long time, he decided there was only one way to find out and reached for the telephone.

"Michael!" he said when the familiar voice came across the line a few moments later. "This is Bob -- yeah. Hi. Listen, you won't believe this dream I had ..."

THE END


End file.
